Aye two bonny men in the humble sun
Sat, sunken suits crumpled with remnants of rum.
Called out the pope on all good deeds
And swore to expose his evil seed.
Then the copper cracking youthful skulls
Cursed the yelping squawking gulls,
Then came across the bonny men lying in the street
An’ tried to drag them to their drunken feet.
“What’s this about the pope?” he asks with Italian infliction
A flame of the inferno in his post-Dante diction
A curse in the cadence and spite in the tone.
They said “We are travellers so far from home,
We bathed in the ether offered by your drink
And by midnight we started to think:
The strangest theories we’d never known
About the goings on over the skies of Rome!”
The Copper was befuddled, confused, an’ red
Strange conspiracies began to fill his head,
“You drunken men blaspheme against the Pope?”
They said “No” but then again “we hope,
For what we hear is unspeakable and wild
About what the pope would do to a child.”
The copper drew back, spewed bile and fell
But what they believed they forgot to tell,
“Silly fucker feinted before he knew our cause,
We are here to prove the Pope is Santa Clause!”